Hey, Diddle, Diddle
by Lizzybug2000
Summary: Quenby Uandary has always been the black sheep everywhere she goes, until one day, when transferred to Arkham Asylum, she meets one person who's intellectual prowess rivals even her own. Too bad it's one of Gotham's infamous rogues. This new Quandary has the attention of a certain Prince of Puzzles. (Riddler/OC, Series of connected one-shots)
1. Chapter 1: Pilot

**Disclaimer- I do not, and never will, own Batman. Or The Riddler. While I own Quenby, I like to think she's an indentured servant, not that I **_**own**_** her. But Still.**

It's funny how things seem to come together at the end. It may never be what you expect it to end like, or what you wanted. But, life has a strange way of giving what you _need_, not _want._

The end isn't always the end. Sometimes, it's the beginning. You'll understand at the end of this metaphorical 'journey' put into words. So, without further ado, here you are.

X

It was a horrible day to begin with. The sky was a brooding grey, and rain seemed to pour from every inch of the sky over Arkham. The atrocious weather was not the only problem with the day, as Dr. Quenby Uandary had experienced more than that one inconvenience. One such problem was having to deal with the blithering idiots guarding Warden Sharp's office.

"I understand I cannot go in, as you've said an innumerable amount of times, but what I fail to understand is _why _I can't go in. It's my first day here, and given the fact Warden Sharp _requested _my presence, I believe my visit here was anticipated, so therefore my arrival was not happenstance. Savvy?"

She wasn't surprised when it appeared that their brains were liquefying from the advanced words she had used; they were practically the poster children for de-evolution. _Dear lord, _she thought, _the human race consists of Neanderthals._

"M'sorry, ma'am, but we ain't s'pposed to let anybody inside the Warden's office. It won't do you no good to keep askin'… He said 'not to let anybody but the new transfuh in.' M'sorry, but you don't look like the transfuh," One of the hulking masses of muscle that had been deemed a guard drawled in his deep, southern accented voice. His face was covered in five o'clock shadow, and he looked as if his diet consisted solely of power bars and protein shakes. Quenby took off her readers and pinched the bridge of her nose. _The muttonhead, _she lamented to herself. Inhaling a sharp breath, she replaced her thick, dark blue frames and spoke in a deathly quiet voice, her alto voice gaining a sharp edge.

"If the new doctor is a transfer, how would you know what she looked like? You would have never met her," she lifted one finger, "you wouldn't know her name," a second joined the first, "and, lastly, what is this, I ask you?" She held up her nametag that hung from the pocket of her slacks, which was proudly proclaiming, 'Dr. Quenby Uandary, age 28, transferred from Jump City Asylum,' along with a picture of herself. Looking back with a small smile, the mini-Quenby reflected the original perfectly. About 140 pounds soaking wet, wavy, shoulder length brown hair, parted at the side and flopping over to left, cheek bones that lightly protruded out, a longish nose, thin eyebrows and complete heterochromatic eyes; one deep green, one light brown. She dropped it and the elastic rope retracted back to her pocket.

"If you would like to let me in, now, it would be most appreciated. If not, you will find yourself _in the unemployment line. _Not that any other legal organizations will accept you, since your concept of the English language is that of an elementary school student's.

"Since it, 'won't do me no good'," she mimicked his deep accent nearly perfectly, "It will, indeed, do me good since that was a double negative. Do not attempt to outsmart me, sir, it won't work, your IQ is that of a bacterium. I am infinitely more intelligent than you."

At the end of her quiet rant, the guards' faces had become purple. Why the one she didn't belittle was angry, she didn't know, but she certainly knew that the one she had was livid. Grinning smugly, she pushed her small, 5'5' frame through the Warden's door. _All in a day's work._

_X_X_X_X_X_ X

Quenby waltzed into Warden Sharp's office with meaning; she was, after all, the new doctor of Arkham Asylum. The guards, which she had now dubbed, 'Dee and Dum', trailed behind her, to carry out their duty from the inside of the office. Their standard issue uniforms bulged against their- most likely -steroid induced biceps. The signs of steroids were all over them, what with the distended stomachs, and the disproportion of upper body muscles. Guns were casually cradled in the crook of their arms.

Warden Sharp was a mole-like man, with a bald head, slightly overweigh, his round glasses perched at the end of his nose, causing his eyes to look at you from a heightened vantage, giving him a permanent condescending look. Years of looking after the asylum had grayed his remaining hair, and as he walked towards the transfer, his cane cast a repeated _click, click, click _across the room. His suit was impeccable as always, ironed to a T.

"Doctor Uandary," He greeted. Quenby flinched visibly at the mispronunciation of her surname. "_Uandary, _sir. 'Won-dur-ee,'" She remedied. He had said the common mistake, 'W-and-uh-ree'. It made her increasingly irritated.

All he did was lift an eyebrow at her discomfort. "I apologize; Dr. _Uandary,_" He corrected, "and I hope the trip here was satisfactory. We would not want you to be… _uncomfortable_ on your first day. Here is your schedule for today; all you are doing is meeting your patients. Getting acquainted with them, you could say."

He passed her a manila folder full of patient files, then a lab coat. She didn't vocalize her thanks, just gave a dip of the head, pushed her glasses up a tad, and slipped the coat over her green, hoodie-like blouse. It hung past the back of her knees and nearly swallowed her hands; she felt ridiculous. Quincy Sharp just put more weight on his cane, leading Quenby to deduce he had some say in the picking of the coat.

Sharp continued, "We should be able to get another one, more your size, but this was the smallest in stock," he fingered the coat, "for now, use it. And Doctor, I hope you don't disappoint. I asked for you in particular, out of one hundred transfers; you were the most intelligent, though the youngest. I will not accept error."

Quenby inwardly flipped him the bird, and then smoothly expressed, "I may be, 'young', as you put it, but I assure you, I will not fail in my work. I didn't make full marks in everything during Uni by slacking."

He nodded once, and then addressed the guards. "Gentlemen, please get the armed guards for the Red Sector. Doctor Uandary will be meeting the rogues."

Quenby paged through the contents of the folder; it certainly peaked her interest. She smiled warmly at the man who held open the door for her; she was basically the most intelligent person who had ever existed, but that didn't mean she wasn't nice to people. Her best friend, Janice, used to take her out for dinner every other Saturday for drinks and to catch up, and her mother would call about once every two months, just to see how she was.

In the first file was a man by the name Jonathan Crane, AKA, 'The Scarecrow,' a former psychologist who uses a variety of drugs and psychological tactics to exploit the fears and phobias of his adversaries. The cover picture had a tall, lanky man with an old pair of glasses and short, brown hair. His nose was long, and had a small bum on the bridge, as if it had been broken and set incorrectly. He would be interesting to speak with. His appointment was in an hour, at 10:00 AM., for twenty minutes.

Edward Nigma, AKA, 'The Riddler.' _Ooh, this is him,_ Quenby smiled. She had read his file before she had arrived. _That'll be fun, I love riddles._ Narcissistic, incredibly intelligent, sounded like her kind of person. The cover picture was another tall man, but slightly more muscled, with reddish-brown hair, green eyes, and goofy smile, as if he wasn't in a mug shot. His was also for twenty minutes, at 10:40 AM.

Third was another man, named simply, 'The Joker.' She had heard about him, and by what was said, she knew he couldn't be 'cured.' He was, without a doubt, incurably insane, a psychopath with a warped, sadistic sense of humor. His mug shot was of a wiry, stringy man with bleach white skin, bright green hair, and blood red lips with trailing scars at the corners, creating an even larger smile than the one that already stained his face. His appointment was at 11:20 AM., for twenty minutes as well.

The last was a woman, her name Pamela Isley, AKA, 'Poison Ivy'. She was obsessed with plants, botany, and environmentalism. She used toxins from plants and mind controlling pheromones for her criminal activities, which were usually aimed at protecting the natural environment. _Damn, _Quenby thought. She was absolutely _gorgeous. _Deep red hair, eyes a tad far apart, small nose, and arching eyebrows dominated the picture, which looked as if the photographer took extra effort to make it look good. There was another interesting patient to see to, and for yet another twenty minutes, at 12:00 AM.

_Let's meet the rogues, _she thought, _and see what kind of minds I'm up against._

X

Her Toms making soft _pit-pat _noises on the tile of the long, metal hallway, Quenby caught snatches of her newly acquired colleagues' faces. _Ahh, they look jeeealooouuus, _she smugly pondered.

"Hello, Doctor Uandary, I'm Aaron Cash," a voice broke her thoughts. It was low, and the man seemed to fit it, being tall, strong, and dark skinned. His hair was cropped near his head, and a hook was fitted onto an amputated arm. _He's like a pirate, _Quenby giggled internally. She smiled and put out a hand.

"Hello, Mr. Cash. As you know, I am Quenby Uandary. Am I correct in assuming you will be guarding my person as I meet the patients?"

He smiled and the lines on his face deepened as he shook her hand with his good one. "Yeah, pretty much. It's more for their safety, actually, sometimes they get a little over excited. The freaks don't have filters for what they're allowed to do and what they do regardless."

Quenby frowned at him and retracted her hand. "They are not _freaks,_ Mr. Cash. They are mentally ill _people_ whom of which are increasingly mislead. I would ask you not to refer to them as _freaks._"

He mirrored her frown and crossed his arms. "It's your funeral. Come on, we're going to Scarecrow's session," He looked at one of the armed guards I was not familiar with, "and make _sure_ his toxin is not on him this time. I don't want a repeat of what happened to the last doctor."

The men looked a little shifty, so Cash shook his head at them, and led Quenby to Jonathan's domain.

**Hey! Hope you liked the pilot. It's just a tester, so if I'll put in a few more when I get feedback.**


	2. Chapter 2: Nothing to fear

**Disclaimer- Nope. Don't own it. Nada. Nein. Negative. **

**As for the reviewers…**

_**TheAlabasterPhoenyx**_**- I believe the word you are looking for is **_**fractious, **_**or **_**thorny.**_** But thank you, sweetheart! You make my little writing heart make happy noises. I will admit, I'm no proud of my summary. It seems too, as you put it, **_**cliché **_**for my tastes. But alas, I have nothing better. I promise you, I speak as I write; my family finds my grammar annoying as all living hell. And putting your fears to rest? Interesting choice of words. Tell me, what **_**are **_**you afraid of?**

_**nicsnort- **_** Can I hug you until you pass out from under oxygenation? I appreciate your criticism along with your praise. As for me having a better grasp of how a battle of wits would go about happening, you shall see. Also, I write for two reasons; my mind has no outlet for creativity, so creative writing became that. After all, it's better than snorting crack off a homeless man. I also write for **_**you, **_**the audience. It's not a requirement for feedback, it's a suggestion. I would like to know how to **_**improve**_** my stories. I mean absolutely no offense! I really love your stories, by the way. **

_**Bat-teen 28- **_**Thanks, dear! Glad you like it.**

_**Mr. Owl- **_**Seriously, how many licks **_**does **_**it take? But anyway, Thanks!**

_**Oreosaregod- **_**Aww, thanks, sweetums. You make me blush.**

**On we go!**

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

"Patient interview 1. This is my first day meeting Dr. Crane face to face. Being new here, I'm interested to see how he reacts."

Quenby then set down her clipboard on the desk, (a good distance from Crane) and smiled affectionately at him. Her pen rested behind her ear.

"Hello, Dr. Crane. My name is Quenby Uandary. I am to be the doctor you will come to have sessions with, for the foreseeable future."

Jonathan Crane was a particularly perplexing man, who never quite seemed to fit into any category Quenby placed him in, as hard as she tried. And she _loathed_ not solving things. She _had to_ solve things, it wasn't an option. On paper, he was lanky and seemingly too tall for his weight, yet that did not stop him from being vastly more vertically superior to her in reality. His thin wrists were handcuffed to the chair he sat on, long fingers pressing together in his lap, clothes hanging off of him, looking every inch the name he chose as his alias.

"Good morning, Dr. Uandary," Jonathan drawled. His voice seemed higher than most male voices, being almost feminine in quality, yet still rolled off his tongue as though the words were silk, the slight rasp reminding Quenby of what hay would sound like if it could speak, "How are you today?"

Quenby readjusted herself in her seat, and then returned with, "I am doing exceptionally. The asylum's a little depressing, but nothing positive thought won't fix. And you?"

He faltered slightly at that, ice blue eyes narrowing in suspicion. "… I am fine. Are you getting along with your new patients? After all, you _are_ new. And with a name like yours, I would suppose Edward would like to make your acquaintance."

She sighed at his pathetic attempt to remain in control of the session. He was so _horrifyingly _obvious about it. "Now, now, Dr. Crane," admonished Quenby, "I am the one leading this session. If you would so kindly leave the mind games at the door, along with any plans to kill me. They won't work, I'm afraid to say."

Jonathan's eyes glinted dangerously from behind his trashed eye glasses, as he responded, "I know what you're trying to do. If you like to think you're in control, who am I to stop you? And as for you being _afraid_ to say… Interesting choice of words. What is it you're afraid of?"

She smiled at him in a self-assured way. _Two can play at that game._

"Turn of a phrase, I apologize. Nothing out of the ordinary, I assure you. While we are on that topic, Doctor, I must say, I have looked into your research, and find it rather fascinating. Unfortunately, since nothing about your experimentation is, in fact, _legal, _I will not say as such to anyone of respectable standing. Why did you decide to start making your toxin?"

He leaned back, and quietly said, "Fear drives everyone, and everything. I simply wanted to prove that. I also wanted to, you could say, _turn the tables _on the idiots that plagued my school life."

Quenby smiled at him with an _I know how you feel_ expression. She understood verily how he felt; her peers at her schools always seemed to avoid her like a leper. If you could call the single-celled organisms _peers._ She hoped her some of her peers would jump _off_ a pier.

"And who were those people? Were they the athletes, the popular ones?" She knew her question seemed unintelligent, but that was the point. She had to wait for the opportune moment to show him what she was really capable of.

He smirked at her coldly, "They were cowards."

By now, most doctors would be properly spooked. Quenby, though, was _not _most doctors. Though what he had said was sort of chilling, she didn't let that show outwardly. Smirking at him, leaning back, she picked up her notepad. Taking the pen from behind her ear, she put it to the paper.

"'A person who lacks the courage to do or endure dangerous or unpleasant things' is the dictionary's definition for coward. Cowards come in many shapes and forms, as I've learned, but a coward doesn't necessarily lack courage. Some are the most courageous people.

"What I am getting at, doctor, is that fear doesn't always drive the cowardly. The greedy, or self-righteous," She paused for a moment to gather her thoughts, still scribbling away at the notepad, "As I expect you to think the Batman is, can be cowards, too. So I will leave you with this," Quenby spun her notepad around to show Jonathan what she was writing on it, "Everyone is cowardly in one way or another. Even I am, not out of fear, but much to my chagrin, out of mere need to fit in to daily life."

She ripped out the paper in her notebook and examined it. A crudely detailed raven stared back, which Quenby delicately folded and held out to Jonathan, who stared at it in contempt,

"_You_, doctor, are cowardly in the way that you refuse to be as such. I believe you're afraid of fear."

He just smiled his frigid smile and expressed lightly, "I'm afraid of _nothing._"

Quenby leaned forward, "What about the Batman?"

At first, he was silent.

Then, he puffed up, like someone had insulted his honor.

Finally, the ranting started.

The guards had to forcibly drag him out, as he was all the while belting out angry threats and deadly promises, along with things like, _"I will make you SCREAM!"_ and_ "You will learn the TRUE meaning of fear!"_ Quenby pocketed the drawing as Aaron Cash marched up to her in a swivet.

"_What the HELL did you do?!" _He asked in a panic.

Quenby smiled at him a satisfied way, "I frightened him."

X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X

_Meanwhile_

Edward Nigma was bored. He was extremely, exceedingly, exceptionally, immensely, hugely, acutely, singularly _bored_. It was the kind of _ennui_ that comes from having too much time on one's hands and nothing productive to do with said time.

He had his riddles, of course, but those were of his own creation, and therefore he knew all of the answers. He could also try to test some of them on doctors or nurses, but the sniveling _cretins_ never answered.

As Edward paced the cell, back and forth, to and fro, the sound of footsteps met his ears. Standing at the gate that was electrified, he strained his ears to listen to what was happening. It was pathetic, really, how the so-called 'professionals' believed they could quench the curiosity of _him, Edward Nigma, The Riddler! _None of the apes that ran their beloved asylum could begin to dream they could control the infamous- and mightily dashing, if he had something to say about it- Prince of Puzzles.

Lo and behold, the self proclaimed 'master of fear' was being dragged none to gently back to his cell across from Edward's by two large men. And he looked positively _furious._ Being the oh-so delightful genius he was, Edward called out to Crane with,

"Hello, Jonathan, old boy. What did you do this time? Blink menacingly?"

All Crane did in reply was glare at him as the monkeys threw him in his cell, locking and electrifying the gate.

"You're up next, Nigma," one of the blockheads spat, "the new doc's gonna meet ya'."

"I'm practically _shivering _in anticipation," Edward retorted dryly, looking down his nose at the men.

All they did was sneer at him and walk away, but he could hear the guards' conversation as they left.

"I heard she's a real looker, the new doctor," stupid #1 said, "an' when I'd saw for myself, I knew I'd heard right."

Stupid #2 scoffed, "She's way outta your league. A smart cookie, that one is. She'd talk you in circles, and you'd never get a word in edgewise, her tongue's that sharp."

Stupid #1 nodded, "Yeah, you got that right. I was talkin' to Brian, an' he said she was threatinin' to fire him for standin' outside Sharp's office and not lettin' her in. She was goin' on about how his grammar was bad an' how he was as dumb as dirt an' shit. It's not his fault he was followin' orders."

Actually, it _was_ his fault, or so Edward thought. And whatever he thought was right.

"She'll sure as hell give the rogues a run for their money, that's for certain," stupid #2 added as an afterthought, finally out of earshot.

Edward Nigma smiled to himself. He certainly wasn't bored now.

X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X

_**YEESH**_**. That took so very long to do. Hope you enjoyed this chapter. Constructive criticism is appreciated!**


	3. Chapter 3: Oedipus's innaccuracy

**Disclaimer- Yeeeeep. Me no own. **

**My faithful reviewers-**

_**nicsnort- **_**I see your points and make them conscience thought. I have (A) fixed last chapter a tad, because I noticed some **_**meh **_**points- a phrase I love- and (B) explained (this chapter) why I did what I did. Crane is one of my favorites. I had a crush on the comic book version of him when I was younger, along with a very particular green garbed man. *blushes* I really wanted to make him out to be who I fell in love with. By the way, **_**your dark laughter is music to my ears.**_

_**Bat-teen 28- **_**Thank you, dearie. I also can't wait to see what I did. If that makes any sense. And by **_**can't wait to see what happens next**_** I suppose you mean **_**don't screw the next one up.**_

_**TheAlabasterPhoenyx- **_**While I also hope she is as evenly matched with Edward, I admit to making mistakes with the previous chapter, even if you didn't see it. I will presume you did, since you readers are sharp as pins. Your fears are not common in any way, dear. All fears are unique in one way or another. I myself have Agoraphobia. The panic attacks are **_**hell.**_** Thank you verily for the review! It is appreciated.**

_**Oreosaregod- **_**You make me **_**so very happy! **_**I have no words to express my thanks to you, so I will settle with this; **_**I owe you my soul.**_** You have my undying gratitude for your review. You have given me new ideas! **_**THANK YOU!**_

**I've felt like hot garbage all month long, so if it's not satisfactory, I apologize. And if you sincerely don't like it, review, and tell me as such, (politely) so I can improve it. Flaming is horribly rude, though, so if you are aiming to, said flame will be used to **_**roast your flesh to a black char, **_**in the most**_** horrible **_**way**_**; by being polite.**_

_**You have been warned.**_

**Also, I went to Alamo City Comicon! **_**So cool. **_**There was a life size TARDIS, and the voices of the Cryptmaster, Arkham Asylum Joker, Mojojojo, and Austria. So, getting my costume together (Governor Elaine Marley) took lots of my writing time away.**

**Okay, a quandary for the readers. I'm stuck on changing Quenby's last name. Andary sounds better, but I'm lazy, so I don't know if I should go back and change them. What do you think?**

_**XXXXXXX**_

"So let me get this straight; you walk in, brain rape him, _the first time you meet him, _and walk out like you're on the way to church Sunday morning?!"

Quenby stopped walking and turned to Aaron, (causing him to pause as well) removing her glasses and rubbing the bridge of her nose, a habit she had picked up when people were getting on her nerves.

"I did not _brain rape_ him, as you so eloquently put it, sir, I talked to him. Is the reason you're trying to assure yourself it actually happened you want to know how I accomplished it?"

Aaron sighed, nodding, "How? You made him angry the first time you met him. Nobody's done that… So how did you? What makes you special?"

"I'm not special. Do you actually want to know how I 'figured' him out? It may not be the answer you want," She warned him softly.

"Yeah. I do," his good hand went up to rub his face in exasperation.

Quenby smiled at him in the way only she could, with a mixture of warmth and sympathy. She felt bad for him; working here for so long had made him suspicious of everyone.

"I didn't. I cheated. Guessing would be an apt description. I looked at his file and I deduced things. It _was_ a gamble, I admit, but it paid out in the end, no? I find the best way to pick apart people is to make a hypothesis and build off of it, whether it is horrendously incorrect or perfectly flawless. Most of the time it's alarmingly erroneous, but this time, I was…surprisingly, correct."

Cash was rendered inarticulate with that. Whether it was from the shock of her actually risking her life to test a theory or from trying to puzzle out the meaning of _erroneous_, she didn't know.

Finally, after a few moments of processing, he sighed again, "I can tell you're gonna be a handful here."

Quenby smiled widely, dimples appearing on her cheeks, "indubitably."

Cash looked back and asked, "What was with the calling him 'doctor' thing, anyways? His degree was taken without the possibility of him getting it back."

Her smile didn't falter as she tried to find the proper words. Finally, she came back with "You can take a person's degree, and all the paperwork that says they're qualified, but you can't take years of study and memories. A prop does not define us as doctors, Mr. Cash, our _minds_ do."

_**XXXXXXX**_

"Patient interview two. I will interview one Edward Nigma, AKA The Riddler, for approximately twenty minutes. I retain hope it won't end like Dr. Crane's session. Then again, _this one_ isn't obsessed with fear."

The guard brought him in and handcuffed him to the chair, then took up position at the door.

Edward Nigma sat with an air of importance and grandeur only he (or a form of royalty) could. He practically radiated to people an aura of _I'm better than you and deal with it_. More muscle was applied to him than Jonathan, but he was still basically a twig. _Brain over brawn,_ Quenby thought distractedly, _but compared to me, he's still a golem._

It was true; standing at 6'1, Nigma dwarfed her, just like Crane, if not slightly more. Quenby's pathetic height was cursed inwardly, as she did daily; twice on Sundays. It didn't help that her coat made her look even smaller, her body swallowed in fabric.

His brownish-red hair was tousled, as if his hands had run through it in attempt to get him to focus. Quenby was vaguely reminded of a mad scientist.

"Well, well. I seem to be in the presence of the new doctor. Tell me, what do you think of Arkham so far?"

_Now he's talking…_

Quenby snapped from her reverie and was slightly taken aback by the question. Being as calm and intelligent as it was, the inflection of his voice gave her the feeling he really didn't care, but just wanted the attention on him. Well, she'd give it to him.

"It's fine. Could use a trace of color, though."

He nodded slightly in agreement, "You're right, it _is_ a bit dull; a splash of green wouldn't hurt."

Quenby found herself in unanimity. Though, she didn't voice that aloud. No ego stroking. Absolutely not.

Smiling to show she felt the same, Quenby took a good look at him. The first thing that jumped out was just how _tired_ he looked. Her mind racing to deduce the cause, she tried to point it out to him, not thinking the entirety of her statement through, "So, mister Nigma-"

"Please call me Edward, my dear."

Chuckling slightly at that, she pushed on.

"You look horribly tired," stated she with her eyebrows scrunched together in concern.

"It's nothing, really. But it's just so _difficult_ getting to sleep with all that noise."

Quenby also deduced his mind kept him awake all hours of the day, as well. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

Though said with complete sincerity and innocence, the roundabout mind of a certain Edward Nigma took that in and smirked at her. "Now, now, doctor. I know I'm tremendously handsome, but we wouldn't want you to be fired on the first day, would we?" he suggested, winking.

Innuendos were never Quenby's forte. In fact, she still was left horribly red-faced when one came about. So, that's what happened. A bright red crawled its traitorous way up her neck and pooled up to the surface of her cheeks.

_Drat! Point one, Nigm- Edward. Call him Edward._

Her shifting thoughts were put on hold since she had to continue. Clearing her throat, she went on, though her voice seemed to have risen in her flustered state.

"So, Edward, I'd like to ask," Quenby started, feeling the heat leave her face and neck, "You are the Riddler, which is obvious, so why haven't I received a riddle?"

You could hear a pin drop.

The guardian at the door had lost most of his color, resembling parchment's off-white pallor. His eyes bored into her with intensity she, in a way, felt proud of.

_Point one for me. It's a tie._

Shrugging off his bewilderment, Edward sat a little taller. This was _his_ game, now. A little smirk inched onto his lips.

"That dear- Pardon me, but I never caught your name."

"That's because I didn't throw it."

Something sparked in his eye, something Quenby didn't know if she liked or not.

"Care to, pardon my pun, toss me a bone?"

Now there was a caper. She knew her name was certainly going to peak his interest; while she hated her first, _and_ last, name, she knew he wouldn't. And, most of the time, doctor's weren't exactly supported in the choice to give maximum security patients full names. She _had_ given an old patient in Jump City her name. His was Baran Flinders; He was one of her favorites, when she finally got to know him, and him her. Too bad he escaped.

Going against better judgment, she shared with him, "I am Dr. Quenby Uandary. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Edward looked taken aback a moment, then slightly angry, and then settled on curious. "I would say that it appears we were destined to meet, if I believed in such a thing."

He leaned forward slightly, and Quenby was reminded of herself when she did the same to Crane. That spark of _something _was in his eye, waiting to pounce, "You requested a riddle, so a riddle you shall receive. Riddle me this… When is a man drowned, but still not wet?"

Quenby didn't miss a beat, "When he's trapped in quicksand."

The guard looked about ready to rush over, he was so white, but Edward wasn't concerned and pressed on, slightly suspicious.

"That one was easy; I see how you solved it. How about this? A large truck is crossing a bridge one mile long. The bridge can only hold 13000 lbs, which is the exact weight of the truck. The truck makes it half way across the bridge and stops. A bird lands on the truck. Does the bridge collapse?"

Quenby repeated with the same speed as before. _He must think I'm an idiot! _Quenby lamented in her head. She loathed people who underestimated her, and got a tad- no, _very_ aggressive when someone underestimated her. _I'll show him._

"No. No, it does _not_ collapse. Because it has driven a half mile, you would subtract the gas used from the total weight of the truck."

Now, he was getting frustrated. "What is as light as air, yet one million men cannot lift it?"

Again, "A bubble."

"Almost everyone sees me without noticing me. For what is beyond is what he or she seeks. What am I?!"

Once more, "A window."

Now he was fuming, "I asked one of your coworkers this one; what is it that walks on four legs, then two legs, and finally three legs?"

This one took longer, so she explained her thought process so he didn't think she conceded.

"Normally I would answer man, as the traditional riddle goes. But," She interrupted, seeing his pleased face, "That's too simple. You have to, I regrettably concede to, make it difficult," And it surely was, "A riddle everyone knows isn't a riddle at all. The answer would be in the question, since clues _are_ your trade…"

His pleasure died out into horrified anticipation that showed clearly on his face. At that moment she noticed both of them had slowly inched forward until they mirrored the other, hunched over the edge of the table slightly. Leaning back, she concluded, "… The old man that walks on three legs and the young man on two don't fit, so the only answer left would be the baby on four. So, that's my answer. A baby."

The man at the door looked at her with something akin to astonishment, (As Edward just ogled sightlessly at her) and mumbled, "_Damn_. Good job, doctor."

Quenby smiled widely and shared her appreciation with a simple 'thank you.'

"…Cheated…" A small, flabbergasted voice whispered, coming from the prince of puzzles himself, "You… You _cheated."_

Quenby was appalled, her pride taking a blow. How dare he?

"I have never cheated at anything, _sir, _so why would I start now?"

Edward quickly shifted from astonished to positively _enraged_ in a split second. _Oh no, I've done it now. Good going, Benny, you've really earned a gold star, _the sarcastic conscious of Quenby snarked

"_YOU CHEATED," _Edward's irate voice screamed, _"How could you know?! Y-you asked that doctor, didn't you?!"_

The man at the door- Jason, she read on his badge, now that he was closer- advanced quickly on the unstable rogue as he launched himself at Quenby, who was frozen with fright. Luckily, Jason got to _him_ before _he_ got to _her_.

Heart beating in terror, Quenby watched in fright as Jason called for a medic to get some sedatives, as Edwar- No, _Riddler_- was not calming down. "_Charlatan! Fraud! Mountebank! Trickster!" _was being thrown at her in a vehement whirlwind.

_Well, _Quenby thought to herself, _that was interesting._

_Two to one. I win. _

_**XXXXXXX**_

**Review, maybe?**


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